


Don't Threaten Me with Squids

by simpletumbleweedfarmer



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Love Confessions, Requited Unrequited Love, Some Fluff, Song: Don't Threaten Me With A Good Time (Panic! At the Disco), Songfic, honestly i don't know what this is, msr with a touch of squid, there are many squids, there are squid demon ladies, this is me creating an x files out of brendon urie's weird videos, uhhhhhh squids?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:08:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24246274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simpletumbleweedfarmer/pseuds/simpletumbleweedfarmer
Summary: While on a case in a little town by Las Vegas, Scully and Mulder end up at a weird nightclub in a weird little town with some really weird monsters.Yeah, no, there is no good way to describe the fever dream that happens when you mix Panic! At the Disco with MSR.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Kudos: 9





	1. Preface

**Author's Note:**

> This is my magnum opus, the worst/best thing I've ever created. It all started because I was listening to Panic! at the Disco's Don't Threaten Me with a Good Time, heard the line "latex gloves" and immediately said "I know how much you like snapping on the latex." In that moment, this horrific, awful, beautiful thing was born.
> 
> It ended up being based on the music video for Don't Threaten Me with a Good Time and Miss Jackson. Other Panic! songs referenced are "Old Fashioned," "The Ballad of Mona Lisa," "Pas de Cheval," and "Sarah Smiles." You'll probably enjoy the fic more if you're a Panic! fan or have at least seen the videos/listened to the songs, but apparently, it's entertaining even if you haven't, according to my friend.
> 
> I really can't explain it. It's horrible and wonderful. I wrote it in four, crazy, insane hours. I've been a Panic! fan for years, so I hope that if Brendon ever sees this, he's honored and a little horrified. :)
> 
> also I made a playlist of the songs featured if you'd like to listen to it: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2FdCbZJfBUfdp0t67N8ZOR?si=OMzawu8HTNSgd0FJBHZscg.

“Mulder, you’re crazy.”

“Look at the evidence, Scully. People have been going missing and reporting sightings of a monster from this club for three months.”

“And there’s no bodies. There’s no evidence that any of these people are dead,” Scully counters.

“It’s just outside of Las Vegas. Tiny little desert town, Pas de Cheval. Weird name. Has almost nothing in it, but it’s within driving distance of the University of Las Vegas School of Medicine.”

“Good school,” Scully comments, sliding the map Mulder offers her towards her.

“All of the people who have reported this monster are medical students. They’re scientists like yourself, Scully.”

She looks up from the map, at Mulder. “You want us to fly to Las Vegas, don’t you? Are you sure you don’t just want to have a good time?”

He doesn’t say anything, and just gives her a smile instead. “We should at least check out Las Vegas. Once we finish the case, of course.”

“Is that your motivation to finish the case?” she sighs, standing up and reaching for her coat. “Me and you taking a vacation in Las Vegas?”

“Why, Scully,” he scolds. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”


	2. Chapter 2

_Who are these people?_

_I just woke up in my underwear_

_No liquor left on the shelf_

_I should probably introduce myself_

_You shoulda' seen what I wore_

_I had a cane and a party hat_

_I was the king of this hologram_

_Where there's no such thing as getting out of hand_

Mulder peels open his eyes, his head pounding and his stomach churning.

He turns over, trying to move away from the light, and suddenly realizes he didn’t remember laying down last night.

_Where am I?_

He opens his eyes more, looking around at the tiny room, seeing the TV glowing in front of him, covered in grey static.

In the corner, there’s a lamp on the floor, the bulb flickering in and out, and to the side of the bed, there’s a wooden dresser.

He sees the bottle of vodka on the top of it, the pack of cigarettes next to it, and he wonders if that’s why he feels so sick.

Mulder looks over at the person beside him, and the woman stirs, turns over, and moves closer to him, throwing her arm across her chest.

“Mulder,” she murmurs sleepily. “Don’t go.”

_Scully_.

Of course.

He slides back down in the bed slightly, and she cuddles closer into his side, and he puts his arm around her protectively.

She’s obviously having a better morning then he is.

He swallows, looking around the tiny motel room, feeling Scully’s fingernails bite into his chest, like she’s trying to grab at his non-existent shirt.

Shirt.

He looks down, peeling back the covers, realizing he’s just in his underwear.

Wait, what?

Where are they? Why is he in bed with Scully?

His eyes rest on the TV screen as the static clears, and suddenly, there’s a picture on it.

It takes him a second to realize that it wasn’t a movie or a TV show.

It’s security camera footage.

Of him and Scully.

They’re standing in a disco, and he’s sure it’s _actually_ a disco, solely because of the glittering disco ball that’s hanging in the center of the frame.

They’re looking around, surrounded by a bunch of scrub-wearing, confused looking pre-med students.

_Who are these people?_

He wonders, and glances down at the bed, catching sight of the TV remote, sitting on the comforter.

He reaches down to grab it, and Scully whimpers as he shifts her slightly.

“Sorry,” he whispers, readjusting so she’s comfortable.

“Mulder, don’t leave,” she mumbles sleepily. “I love you, you’re mine.” Suddenly, her breathing picks up, and she shakes her head. “No, no, no, don’t take him! He’s mine! I love him! Mulder!” She turns over and moves away from him.

He stares over at Scully, confusion written all over his face.

Is he sure this is Scully?

“Scully?” he whispers, staring at her.

Since when did she love him?

He’d always hoped, sure, but…what?

“Mulder!” She’s hyperventilating in her sleep, flailing and panicking, clearly having a nightmare. “Mulder, Mulder, where are you?!”

“Shhhhh, I’m right here, Sculls. Right here,” he tells her, reaching over and putting his hand on his arm.

She whimpers, and turns back over, reaching for him.

He wraps his arm around her again, and she throws her leg over his, half-laying on top of his chest.

Okay.

This is weird.

She moves slightly until she’s _literally_ on top of him, and he defeatedly puts his hand on her back as she tucks her head under his chin.

“Mulder,” she murmurs happily.

This is more than weird.

I mean, sure, it’s nice, don’t get him wrong, but now he’s lying in a motel bed with Scully asleep on top of him.

Literally on top of him.

He realizes the remote is in his hand, and he turns up the sound on the TV, rubbing Scully’s back with his hand.

Hey, the least he can do is keep her asleep.

“There’s no liquor left on the shelf,” TV-Scully says to him, looking around the disco, pointing at the shelf that should be covered in liquor bottles.

“Excuse me.”

On the TV, a blonde haired, blue eyed pre-med student walks up to him, and touches his shoulder.

Wait, he thinks he remembers this.

He watches as the TV-version of him turns around, and the med student gives him a smile.

She has a weird, almost ethereal quality to her, with a smile that says she knows more than she’s letting on, and she doesn’t care who knows it.

“I should probably introduce myself,” she says, holding out her hand. “Sarah Jackson.”

“Miss Jackson, were you here last night?” TV-Scully asks.

“Yes, I was,” she says, leaning on the bar, giving them both that smile. “You should have seen what I wore. I had a cane and a party hat.” She winks at TV-Mulder, and TV-Scully gives him a look.

Mulder looks down at Scully who’s still passed out on his chest, calmer now that she’s close to him.

_Was Sarah Jackson’s flirting the reason she’s acting so weird?_ he wonders.

Scully was never clingy. Not like this.

He starts to move his hand off of her back, and she makes the tiniest whimper, stiffening until he puts his hand on the small of her back again.

She melts back into him, and Mulder prays he doesn’t have to get up for any reason.

He remembers her screams from a few minutes before, begging for him not to leave her.

Did he try and leave her?

Why would he have left her? Especially if she said she loved him. Or was hurt/drugged/drunk enough to want him to hold her like this.

Wait.

What if someone tried to take him from her?

That would make more sense.

It would also explain the nightmares and the clingy cuddling.

“I promise I won’t leave you,” he whispers to her, even though she’s definitely asleep. “No one’s taking me from you.”

He looks back up at the TV, as Sarah Jackson continues giving her statement. “I’m studying the use of holographic technology for medicine. You could say I’m the king of this hologram.”

She laughs a little bit, and Mulder watches her, noting how weird her behavior is and how she just keeps making jokes, trying to hide how uncomfortable she really is.

“Last night must have gotten really out of hand,” TV-Mulder asks, motioning to the liquor bottles behind him.

Sarah Jackson smiles at TV-him, and even though she’s just a picture on a screen, Mulder gets a chill down his spine.

“What do you mean? There’s no such thing as getting out of hand. You could even say we’re all monsters here.”

“Alright, alright,” he whispers to the TV. “She’s hiding something.”

He’s got a hell of a feeling, and it’s not just because Scully’s _still_ asleep on top of him.

He doesn’t know what it is, but something happened last night, and it wasn’t something good.


	3. Chapter 3

_Memories tend to just pop up_

_Drunk pre-meds and some rubber gloves_

_Five-thousand people with designer drugs_

_Don't think I'll ever get enough (don't think I'll ever get enough)_

_Champagne, cocaine, gasoline_

_And most things in between_

_I roam the city in a shopping cart_

_A pack of camels and a smoke alarm_

_This night is heating up_

_Raise hell and turn it up_

_Saying "If you go out you might pass out in a drain pipe"_

_Oh yeah, don't threaten me with a good time_

The longer he stares at Sarah Jackson, the more of the memories from last night tend to just pop up.

They’d gone back to that disco last night…at least he thinks so.

_Last night...he thinks…._

“Are sure this is a good idea, Mulder?” Scully says, climbing out of the taxi he’d insisted they call. “I mean, this is a club.”

“A _disco_ , Scully. Didn’t you see the disco ball?” he jokes, handing the taxi driver a twenty.

She gives him a look. “Very funny, Mulder.”

The taxicab drives away, and Mulder adjusts his suit coat. “This place looks like a good time,” he comments, the pounding music loud enough to be heard from the parking lot, and lights glowing through the tinted windows. “Sure you’re up for this?” he says, looking over at her.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Mulder,” she says.

He holds out his arm, and she slips hers through it.

“Let’s do this.”

It takes some convincing and bribery to actually get into the place, as neither of them exactly look like college kids anymore, but there’s something off about the bouncer as he lets them through with a look that makes Mulder insanely uncomfortable. Mulder slides his arm out of Scully’s and slips it around her waist instead.

She gives him a look as they step in, and he guilty pulls his arm off of her.

“I thought you were ready to have a good time,” she says, almost having to scream for him to hear anything she’s saying.

“That bouncer guy gave me weird vibes, Sculls,” he admits.

“This whole place is weird, Mulder. Let’s split up,” she tells him.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Mulder looks around the club, at the group of drunk pre-med students who are leaning on each other at the bar, laughing, and talking.

“Scully, look,” he nudges her arm. “Apparently, this place offers champagne, cocaine, gasoline, and most things in between.”

She looks over at the group, watching them, and then looks back at Mulder, reaching into her purse, and yanking out of a pair of latex gloves.

“Why, Scully, I know you love snapping on the latex, but enough to carry gloves with you?” He takes them from her hand.

“Put them on. Everyone’s wearing them,” she hisses back. “Look.”

Mulder watches the crowd of pre-med students and realizes Scully’s right.

Everyone’s wearing those blue, latex gloves.

“What’s up with the gloves?” he asks, pulling his gloves on with a snap that would make Scully proud.

“This is a tiny desert town with five thousand people in it,” Scully looks at him. “Have you noticed that every single person is wearing designer clothes? They’re probably on designer drugs, too.”

“What are you saying, Scully?”

“I’m saying this isn’t an X-File. It’s a drug bust.”

“Let’s at least look around first,” Mulder begs. “There are so many reports of missing persons and you know, the sightings of that monster.”

“All of these people are high, Mulder. Of course, they’re seeing monsters. If these drugs are as high-end as the clothes these people are wearing, you could tell them that the sky is green and they’d believe you.”

“When did you learn so much about drugs, Scully?”

“I was a pre-med student once, too, you know,” she says, snapping on her own latex gloves.

“What?!”

“I took a class on drugs and their effects during college,” she gives him a funny look. “What did you think?”

Mulder shakes his head, trying to erase the image of Scully drugged out of his mind. “Right, right, sorry.”

“Let’s split up. Meet back here in an hour.”

He nods at Scully, taking a second to really appreciate the way she looks in that tight, rose red dress that clings to every curve of her body, the glittering black flats that are so practically Scully, or the way her perfect lips are outlined in berry red Mulder wouldn’t mind kissing off of her.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough of her in that outfit.

“Mulder?” she looks at him. “Splitting up? Does that work?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” he nods. “Um, Scully?”

“Yeah?”

“You look…beautiful,” he stammers. “I thought you should know.”

She smiles, reaching over to squeeze his arm. “Thanks, Mulder. I appreciate it.”

She lets him go, and then disappears into the crowd.

He’s left standing there, feeling the lump in his throat as she walks away.

He loves her.

He loves her so, so, so much and she looks right through him. Or at least it feels like that.

He shakes the thoughts from his head and decides to start with the group of pre-med students at the bar.

He walks up the stairs onto the upper floor, pushing through the crowd of drunk students, feeling the base of the music vibrate the floor and how his head pounds as the lights flash above him.

He pushes past a couple strangely slow dancing to the fast-paced music, and a group of dancing girls, until he’s safely at the corner of the marble bar.

He slides into the bar stool, nodding at the bar tender. “Old fashioned, please,” he orders.

The music is making his head pound even more then the lights, and he needs to get rose-red-dress-berry-lipstick-wearing-Scully out of his head before his heart explodes.

He loves her.

That’s what the base of the music seems to understand with every heart and head pounding thump.

_I love her_.

The bar tender slides the glass across the counter, and Mulder picks it up, taking a sip.

“You know, that’s really a lot better if you add two dashes of the bitters, add some ice and then you pour,” a voice says beside him.

Mulder jumps, turning and looking at a brown haired, brown eyed girl sitting a few feet down from him.

She gives him a smile, and he realizes the smile is the same as the one Sarah Jackson had given him earlier in the day.

Mysterious and full of secrets, and she doesn’t care who knows it.

She smooths her burgundy colored dress, reaching for her drink, winking at him.

Mulder hasn’t been on a date in a long, long time.

Well, not since he met Scully.

He’s pretty sure this girl is hitting on him though.

He watches as she turns back to her drink, and he can’t get that look in her eyes out of his head.

_Okay. There’s something about her. She knows something._

He’s going to have to flirt back if she’s going to talk to him, he realizes, and for some reason, he feels nervous.

The only person he’s been flirting with has been Scully. And that hasn’t exactly been going well.

But no, he can do this.

He’s a grown man, and he can flirt with this girl.

_Just pretend she’s Scully_.

He slides off his seat, picking up his drink, and then walks over to her, leaning against the bar, giving her a smile and a nod. “Hey.”

“Hey back,” she smiles at him.

“This place is kind of crazy,” he says, taking a sip of his drink.

“This is nothing,” she laughs. “Nothing compared to the times I’ve had.”

“Oh?”

“One time, I spent the whole night roaming the city in a shopping cart wearing nothing but a pack of Camels,” she confides. “Woke up upside down in my neighbor’s pool the next morning with the smoke alarm going off in the house.”

“The pool?” He watches her, those brown eyes mysterious, and she gives him that smile again.

It’s a hell of a feeling that smile produces in him.

Not the warm, loving feelings he has when Scully smiles at him.

This was a sick, dark, get-away-from-me kind of feelings.

He pushes them down, drowning them in the last of his old fashioned.

“Yes,” she laughs. “In the pool. With the _perfect_ view.”

She nods at his drink, tapping the edge of it with her finger. “Want another?”

“Sure,” he says, taking the seat beside her.

“Buuuuuut before that, you have to heat up this night first,” she purrs, running her nails down his arm.

He clears his throat, looking forward, signaling for the bar tender to bring him another one.

_I want Scully_ , he thinks.

“Sure,” he forces the word out of his mouth, looking over at her.

“We’re going to raise hell and turn it up,” she smiles, reaching for her own old fashioned.

The bar tender slides him his second one, and he takes a sip.

She raises her eyebrow. “You know, you shouldn’t drink too many of those. If you go out, you may pass out in a drainpipe.”

He laughs nervously, and then drains the glass in one gulp. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”


	4. Chapter 4

_What are these footprints?_

_They don't look very human like_

That drink was spiked.

It was definitely spiked.

He’s been talking to Miss Mona L. Jackson for the past two hours, and she keeps forcing old fashioned (that’s ordered exactly as she likes them “add two dashes of the bitters, add some ice and then you pour”) down his throat.

He can’t get rid of this feeling, his entire world is spinning, and he’s feeling sick.

“Have another one, doll,” she grins at him, and pushes another old fashioned at him.

He nods, taking the glass, and taking another sip.

“Why won’t you dance with me, huh?” she murmurs, leaning down close to his ear.

“I want Scully,” he slurs, looking at her.

She pulls back, and raising an eyebrow, her hand finding its way into his hair. “Let me guess, this Scully doesn’t love you back?”

He nods his head, putting his cheek down on the cool, marble countertop.

“Well, I bet I can fix that,” she says, smiling.

He looks up at her, and suddenly, her brown hair looks red, and her burgundy dress looks shorter and more-rose colored, and it’s Scully.

She’s Scully.

“Scully…” he says.

“Hey, baby,” she coos, running her fingers across his jaw line.

He smiles, and she smiles back.

_She loves him, she loves him back_.

“Come dance with me, babe,” she tells him, sliding off of the bar stool.

“Yes,” he murmurs, taking her hand in his.

She leads him through the crowd, and the lights swirl, and the confetti and glitter on the floor reflect the lights, making everything feel even more disorienting and confusing.

But he’s with Scully.

It’s Scully.

_His_ Scully.

She turns around, making a come here motion with her finger, and he follows her.

He’s dizzy and confused, everything seeming so much brighter and louder than it is. He glances down, trying to orient himself, watching Scully walk backwards, still making the “come here” motion at him.

Her footprints.

Her shoes are making impressions in the layer of glitter and confetti on the disco floor, almost like snow.

Except…

“What are these footprints?” he murmurs, his head swimming.

They don’t look very human like.

That doesn’t make any sense though.

Scully’s human.

She’s human.

He looks up from the footprint, at Scully, and for a second, he swears one of her legs isn’t a leg, but a tentacle.

Like an honest-to-God squid tentacle.

“What the f-“


End file.
